


It cannot be given

by quietwandering



Category: Morrissey (Musician)
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering
Summary: And so it must be taken
Relationships: Morrissey/Original Character
Kudos: 6





	It cannot be given

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as more of a Moz/Linder Sterling piece, but I just have no idea if this be in character for them. Maybe it's more like Linder/Moz from the England is Mine movie? But just to be safe I tagged as Moz/OC. Set present yearish. 
> 
> Title from [It's Not Your Birthday Anymore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-MqnqwK7Qc) by Morrissey because, I mean, _goddamn_. Moz's voice at the end turns me on like no body's business

The state of my flat after the party last night was nothing short of a total disaster. Piles of trash and torn decorations were strewn about the place like a tornado had come through. Better yet, there were puddles of bodily fluids soaking into my imported rugs. God. Once I had the energy to call the maids, they were going to have a hell of a time straightening this place out.

For now, I sat on the couch with a tumbler of whiskey and a bottle of aspirin and prayed the hangover would at least get to be somewhat manageable. The throbbing pain behind my eyes was intense.

I then heard my front door swing open with an unnecessary amount of noise, and my hopes for a nice, peaceful afternoon in bed were dashed. Familiar footsteps echoed throughout the foyer, and that soft voice curiously called out my name a few times. "In here," I answered, sighing. I should've known he'd come by - he could never stay away for long.

“I'm right on time, I see.” Morrissey came into my living room with a casual arrogance about him, dressed to the nines despite the god awful hour and the lack of anywhere important to be. I’d been so easy to impress when we first met all those years ago. Just a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized shirt had me gushing in my knickers. Now he shows up to my place in a three piece designer suit, and I feel a little underwhelmed.

“Funny, you weren’t invited. Must have been a mixup on my part. You’ve my apologies, but please see yourself out. I can’t be bothered.” 

With undue confidence, he strode through the piles of refuse and took a seat next to me on the couch, pulling the glass out of my hand. I laughed when he kissed me, hurried and insistent, only to pull away with a disgusted look on his face. “I see you’ve not cleaned yourself up this morning,” he whispered, drawing his tongue along the shell of my ear, flicking at the lobe playfully.

“I’ve always been a mess, darling. You just won’t believe me,” I replied with exaggerated flamboyance, hand waving through the air with a camp flourish. His fingers brushed along the nape of my neck before he pressed a kiss there, too, and I couldn’t help but moan, grabbing at the lapels of his navy blazer. Suede, I realized, remarkably soft. 

“Go get yourself ready for me,” Morrissey said (demanded, really), and I scoffed. There was no refusing him though, and I was led to the bathroom by my elbow like an unruly child. I was pushed through the door with little regard to my complaints and had to pull my negligee tight around me to stave off the freezing cold.

“You could at least pay me for the trouble,” I complained as I went for the sink. I hated to see the bags under my eyes, the sallow tone of my skin, and brushed my teeth with a long suffering sigh. 

I ran the shower as hot as possible to melt away the grime. I thought about shaving my legs but decided against it. When I was washing my hair, I picked a clump out the back that smelled worse than a dead animal, and I forced myself not to dwell on what it might’ve been. If my cluttered memories of last night were anything to go by it was best to forget about it entirely.

Clothes weren’t needed so I decided to just towel off and wander back into the living room, laughing at the sight of him on my couch. He had a pocket notebook in his lap, of all things, and he seemed to be writing something of _great_ importance. He always assured me that everything he put to paper was like that, but I'd remind him at length that he’d written something as stupid as _Don’t Make Fun of Daddy’s Voice_ and that shut him up, for a little while anyways.

“Don't let me distract you or anything,” I drawled, flinging my towel towards the coffee table - it scattered the sea of empty glasses and crushed cans onto the floor with a cacophonous uproar. I stretched my arms up and over my head and spun round in a slow, sensuous circle. “Clean enough for you, sir?” 

"Perfection." I took his outstretched hand and flashed a smile that might have been considered off putting to more ordinary folk. Morrissey said he thought it was _charming_ though, and I never bothered to correct him. Our tongues met before our lips, and he pulled at my hips until he was more comfortable with how I was sitting on him. He loved to rub himself along the slit of my cunt while he was still clothed - sometimes he’d get himself off doing just that.

He rolled us onto the floor after a brief snog and bucked his hips almost painfully against my own, biting along my neck, my shoulders, my breasts. I sighed as pleasure began to swell up inside me, tempering down the agony of my hangover, and I ran my fingers across his cheek with a fond look. “I don’t even get the couch?” I asked, but he ignored me in favor of unzipping his trousers, shoving down those well tailored slacks because he was so eager to fuck _me_ of all people. “Fingers first, you charlatan.”

He pulled my thighs up off the floor and buried himself between them tongue first. As usual, my demands were always at odds with his own. I’d suggest a nice quiet cafe and he’d bring me to a restaurant only serviced by world renowned chefs. “How many times have I told you to just rinse,” he complained, tongue laving over my clit with a rough swipe. Clearly the taste of my soap must not have been _that_ offensive to him. “You never listen.” 

“I pride myself on it,” I said, running my fingers across the buzzed sides of his hair. He turned to press a kiss into my wrist before he nosed back into my folds, and the warmth of his breath against my labia made me shiver in pleasure. He'd never been great at getting his tongue inside of me, but I always appreciated the great lengths he went through to try. We both knew I wasn't that hard to turn on, really - and, despite all he did to downplay his sexual voracity, he was the exact same.

I was lowered back down towards his cock, and I wriggled defiantly as he pushed inside me, forcing him to slip out. My punishment was swift and severe (and well received) as he landed a hard smack against one of my breasts. My entire body arched up into the touch as the pain made my cunt pulse with arousal. “You know better,” he chided, clicking his tongue. Those blue eyes playfully stared down at me with mock-reproach, and I twisted out of his grasp just to provoke him further, crawling away on my hands and knees towards the bedroom. I was rewarded with a sharp blow against my backside before I was dragged back towards him.

“I know you like it when I misbehave. You're just never honest with yourself, Steven,” I said with a sigh, pointedly using his first name. He drove his cock into me from behind with a vulgar noise in retribution, and I skidded along the floor from the force of it. “Think we’ll ever make passionate love on a beach somewhere down in Costa Rica?” 

“I hope not,” he murmured as he began to rock himself inside me. My cunt struggled to adjust for a while but that made it all the more arousing for me. I grabbed onto the driest part of a rug within reach and shivered when he ran his hands carefully along my sides. Perhaps he wasn’t a gentle lover, but he was at least a considerate one. “Touch yourself, get yourself off.” 

My arm was pulled from the floor, and I nearly toppled as my hand was wrenched between my thighs. I thought about telling him to fuck off, but I knew he’d win in the end anyways. “Bossy, bossy. Never a _please_ , never a _thank you_.” 

“I’m not here to goad you with pleasantries,” he said, hips stuttering. I tensed my cunt around him teasingly as I began to slowly rub my clit in tight circles. The faster the orgasm the sooner I could get back into my bed and off this floor, honestly. 

With that in mind, I rocked back more insistently against him, listened to his breath begin to get more shallow. I could picture that concentrated look on his face, could see the way his tongue would drag along his bottom lip in thought. Even in such an ungraceful, obscene act as this, he still remained so dignified, so poised.

There was a sigh, a halted moan, and I felt him come inside me with long, drawn out strokes, fingers pressing bruises into my hips. I shivered as he ducked down to lick me clean, tongue lapping up the mess he'd made, and when he wrapped his lips around my clit I felt my thighs start to tremble. “ _Fuck_. Don’t fuckin’ _stop,_ ” I gritted out, my orgasm soaking him from the chin down. It would serve him right to go home drenched in me. 

As our climaxes faded, I pulled myself back up on the couch and reached for my drink with shaky hands, my aching limbs immensely appreciative of the cushions. I wanted to be carried into my room, to be coddled, but he was already dusting himself off and fastening his trousers shut, tucking his journal into his pocket. “Remember to invite me to your next bash,” he said brusquely and leaned down to press a kiss against my cheek. I wiped away the slick mark it left behind with a disgusted grimace. “I’m great entertainment, you’ll find.” 

“Maybe next year,” I mused, too tired for our normal banter. “I’ll see what I can do.”


End file.
